


Wishful

by laissemoidanser



Category: Carnivale
Genre: Carnivale - Freeform, F/M, Headcanon, carnivale hbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laissemoidanser/pseuds/laissemoidanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short scene between Justin and Iris that could probably take place after Episode 6 of Season 2.<br/>(and totally did in my headcanon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful

“Mother is dead!” he snaps at her and turns back to his newspaper, irritated by the sound of the knife hitting angrily against the table.

She sets plates on the table with such force they rattle. Justin lowers his morning paper, which he hasn’t been reading anyway and frowns at her over it. On this lovely morning his sister has managed to turn the whole cooking process into a scene of silent suffering and despair. Iris sniffles, hurries to leave the porch and disappears into the house, making sure to slam the front door as loud as possible. Justin just sits there and eyes the breakfast she made for him for some time, then he sighs, shakes his head, folds the meaningless newspaper, rises from the table and follows her inside.

“Iris,” he lingers at the doorstep to her room. Nothing but a few brief moments of hesitation before he steps in without her permission. “You haven’t touched your food.”

She grants him a quick nod and turns her back to him, facing the window now with her chin raised haughtily. Mellow rays of sunshine get caught in her hair and are shining like a soft-edged halo around her head. He can’t see what her eyes are saying but he finds himself desiring to know. His Iris is but a fragile speck of shiny dust, a tiny feather gravitating up, towards the scorching sunlight. His Iris is the only resisting force gravitating him back to his humanity.

“I’m not hungry,” her voice still shows bitter offence, no, not offence really, but bitter defeat. A kind of defeat a martyr might experience: one that has accepted their fate, has committed to their death and proudly awaits Him, ready to leave their life behind with sense of dignity, to punish, by death, all those who wish harm upon them, to punish them all…but then suddenly this proud martyr is spared. What would they feel? Embarrassment maybe? Humiliation? Emptiness? There’s only one thing Iris know for sure – she hardly feels like a saint now. How could he do this to her! But somewhere behind this angry storm of feelings, there lingers yet a different one – and she knows it will take over once again, sooner or later. Because she can’t hold spite against Justin for too long, it’s not in her powers, it’s not in her rules.

He smiles at her with that patronizingly warm smile he still saves for her only. Sometimes he thinks they understand each other without saying a single word and now his smile tells her he won’t leave until he hears what she has to say.

“Iris?”

Iris turns to him, slides her palms down the front of her new dress to smooth the creases and she still refuses to meet his gaze. Her eyes are wet with tears. She steps away from the window, sits down on the edge of the bed and wipes those tears away quickly with the backside of her hands. Her movements are deprived of typical female gracefulness but he has always loved that about her. A strand of chestnut hair falls down to her face shading it from the sun light, Iris is sitting with her head bowed down.

“What troubles you, my dear?” he asks at last.

“I’m so very tired.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tired of being afraid to lose him, of not being able to have him for herself? Justin already knows the answer perfectly well. In the end it will always come down to this one simple and obvious fact. The rest is merely a world of illusions she raised up over her fear. But now he wants to see how she _will not_ admit it.

“Have you forgotten what they taught us, what our mother taught us? We must serve God, Alexei, not ourselves. I had to sacrifice, I deserved punishment. Not redemption. You had no right to give me this redemption. Now everything is going to be wrong. Everything that was meant for you. Because it’s you who must keep going, not me. Zach’em ty tak so mnoi…?* ” she raises her eyes to him, fierce and clear, full of childish and downright hurt. “My way should’ve ended there!”

He leans over her, pulling the stray lock of hair back from her face to see her better, tips of his fingers purposely linger on her cheek. Iris inclines her head into his touch.

“Selfish sister of mine”. His fingers trace the line of her neck, so pale and fragile; it would take nothing for him to break it. Just to grip a little tighter. Oh, how he wants to do it…only to then plant a hard kiss on those lips. “Still fooling around with those old fairytales and dreams. But you will have to go this way, together with me. There’s no choice left.”

“And if there were, Alexei. Would you let me be? Please tell me, do you need me so much that you…would deprive me of my right to make a choice? Do you need me so much?”

So much wonderful plea in her eyes, so much softness and resolution, she puts her destiny into his hands completely. She made her choice long time ago. Justin smiles and tilts his head in admiration of this sight. Tears are sparkling at the corners of her eyes, clear as the bright blue sky on a frosty winter morning and he bends a knee, lowers himself down in front of her, his eyes a mirror of her own, clear and blue, not a trace of demon in them and who would have guessed at that moment, that the thing exists, dwells in his soul, devours him from the inside. Silence falls between them, pierced only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the watch on his wrist. Her tears are drying, she heaves a sigh and slides her hand over his hair, gently circling her fingers over his nape. His soft gaze has somehow soothed her. By means shared only between the two of them she has found an answer in his eyes and her comfort.

And yet this time he tells her, “More than anything in this world, Ira.”

She freezes for a second, surprised to hear such words, caught off guard, her lips half-open, her brows raised. She already knows when and why he calls her like that but still doesn’t trust him enough, fearing it’s just the demon in him thinking up a new game of cat-and-mouse. Well then, if he’s destined for Hell, she’s more than happy to follow him there.

He leans in and kisses her cheek, places his lips to where his touch is still burning out, kisses her softly and passionately, the way only Justin can kiss, a kind of kiss he saves only for her. “Ira”, he says once again. And she can’t resist him; she closes her eyes and wraps her arms around his shoulders when the next kiss burns her skin and a velvet “ _Ira_ ” – her ears.

**Author's Note:**

> * "Zach’em ty tak so mnoi…?” translates into English as "Why are you doing this to me?"


End file.
